when you are close to me i shiver
by doubleohq
Summary: Feelings are a confusing subject for someone eternally trapped as a teenager with an ability to control cold weather and responsibility to protect children. But he can get the hang of them. Hopefully. [Reader/Jack Frost]
1. you walk into a room

oh god i don't know what i'm doing i just really needed to write something for jack frost because he's really great and i love him a lot wow

this is rated m for a reason kiddies (later chapters, ye)

things are gonna get pretty heated

hope jack doesn't melt

;)

**disclaimer: **i own nothing in the story but the story itself. jack and all other characters (besides you the reader obvs) belong to their rightful owner and i am merely writing about em

* * *

He's watching you.

Not that it's a random occurrence. It's nothing new. He's perched in a tree- the tree directly outside your window, to be exact- blue eyes focused intently, no sign of any worry at being caught.

Again, he's done this before.

What he was seeing now, though, was.. _different _than usual.

You're completely oblivious to his presence, shedding the towel that you previously had wrapped around your body. And he finds himself leaning forward, chuckling under his breath at the way you scramble to find something to wear. How your still-slightly-damp hair sticks to your face when you pull a shirt on, underwear and pants soon following.

He thinks, _hopes_ he doesn't feel a weird pang of loss at his view being obstructed by clothing. A rush at catching more than just a flash of skin. He shakes his head as if it'll make the thoughts stop. Make the turning in his gut subside.

The sigh that leaves his lips is weary, strange coming from someone who looks so young. What would the others think if they knew what he was doing? _Why did that even matter?_ It wasn't as if there was a chance of him not getting on the naughty list this year anyway, he thinks to himself with a wry smile. That was a lost cause.

Swinging his legs over the branch and wriggling the toes of bare feet, feeling the light of the moon on his back almost guiltily, he jumps.

And floats.

* * *

"I'm getting old, Jack," you say, your expression blank as you stare up at him with [e/c] orbs reflecting nothing but solemnity. He raises a slender, dark brow questioningly. Resting his staff against the wall, he remains hovering along the sidelines.

"I thought people didn't do the whole worrying about age until they're... actually old."

You scoff.

"I _am _old. I'm going to be seventeen in two months." Part of him wants to laugh at how ridiculous you sound, but you just look so _serious _about it.

"I'm three hundred and eighteen, [Name]. I think I've got you beat here."

Maybe you were just being silly about this. But-

"Not physically!" Your exasperation makes both of his eyebrows shoot up in confusion. "You're only... eighteen. I'm going to keep growing and growing, and you're just going to stay frozen like this while I..."

You immediately regret your words when he flinches a bit. Obviously you weren't the only one who had strayed into that territory of mind. He's better at faking nonchalance, though, rolling his eyes and making a beeline to plop down on the edge of your bed.

"How long have you been waiting to use that as a pun?"

"... It kind of slipped out, to be honest."

The springs creak when you crawl over, and he doesn't tense when your head is on his shoulder. Why would he? It's nice. Plus he's known you for years. He's used to having you close. There were times when you were younger that you'd jump on his back, play with his hair, fall asleep in his lap..

He really wouldn't mind any of that right now, he realizes.

Having you in his lap, running your fingers through snowy locks, grabbing at his back while he presses his mouth to yours..

The familiar sensation is back, shooting at his insides, sending an odd heat coursing through his body. _Woah there_, he steadies the rushing. _Easy. _It doesn't vanish as quickly as it usually does. It's harder to control when you're around- because _you're _the reason it happens- and he shifts, unaware at first that he's leaning even more into you rather than away like he had intended. Whoops. He can't bring himself to care at this point.

You don't seem to mind or even notice.

Or, maybe you do. (He hopes you do.) Either way, you don't call attention to it.

"I'm getting older," you repeat, quieter than before. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "You're not."

Fiddling with one of the sleeves of his sweatshirt, you avoid his eyes. The way you're doing it is almost as if coaxing him to move to where he was facing you. _Don't _he tries to tell himself. _Don't do that, don't do it, don't-_

You're closer, something he didn't think was possible. The light in the room is courtesy of the moon, full on this night, illuminating the tousled spikes of his hair. And you're looking at him now, his ice blue eyes far more bright and burning with such an intensity that you nearly _have _to break eye contact.

"If it helps.. I'm pretty sure you're only about twelve mentally," he whispers, a boyish grin quirking his lips, the joking air diluted by the lack of space between the two of you, the low volume of his voice. The heat within had settled underneath the surface, bubbling and making him itch to grab at your hand, your face, _anything_ to anchor himself to some actual that had been warning him against this was long gone now.

Jack Frost was never the type of guy to obey that little voice in his head, anyway.

* * *

"Hormones?"

"You get 'em at a certain age," Bunnymund had explained, albeit uncomfortably. He'd scratched at the back of his head with his boomerang, trying to look anywhere but at him. Silently cursed North for not being there to be the one to talk about this. Or Tooth Fairy. Heck, even Sandman would have been better suited for this, and he didn't even _speak_. "Well, you always have 'em, but they tend to... pop up. Around this age. For.. yeah."

He could tell that Jack was about as thrilled and comfortable with this as he was.

"I didn't think I could.."

"Apparently you can, mate."

The over-sized rabbit had shrugged, relief washing over him as he spotted the others making their way over.

"I mean, you're pretty young. You were." He added on the last two words for clarification. "Anything's possible, and, ah, I should be going. Gotta go do... a thing. Good luck with all of... that." And he'd hurried off before Jack could ask anything else.

Tooth Fairy practically tackles him with questions of her own between gushing- _so what's this I hear about a __**girl**__? what's she like? what kind of toothpaste does she use? oh, don't look at me like that! I'm sure you're pretty familiar with the kind by now- _North watched with a twinkle in his eye, clapping him on the shoulder and almost sending him flying to the floor once Tooth's onslaught of questions had ended. Sandman only smiled knowingly.

He had made a mental note to not mention anything to any of them ever again.

* * *

"Have you ever kissed anyone before?" He asks, although he kind of sort of _really _doesn't want to hear the answer.

You're both in the middle of your bed; you stretched out and he sitting cross-legged at your side. Your tone isn't curious when you reply, more of a proud huff than anything else.

"I have."

It doesn't sting as much as he thought it would. Because he expected it. You were beautiful. You were amazing. You were _you. _

"Two people," you say matter-of-factly as he feels a considerable amount of the weight in his chest lift. "Have you?"

"Mmmmhm." He nods, and you raise a brow skeptically. A frown comes to his face- closer to a wounded pout, actually. "What?"

"Tooth Fairy doesn't count. Neither do any of the little mini tooth fairies."

"I'm offended. Highly offended."

Except he wasn't at all because it wasn't as if he ever actually _had _kissed anyone. Even if he did, it wouldn't have mattered all that much. Nothing came close to the desire to cup your face, press your lips together, hold you there for as long as possible and let your warmth seep into him.

"I'm bad at this." And he's not sure who decided you being in his lap now was a good idea but that wasn't what he needed to concentrate on really because _god it was such a __**good**__ idea. _"Really bad."

"[Name]," he says, and you're clutching at the front of his sweater and _his voice- _it's low and playful and you're hanging on your name, waiting for him to say more. "I'll be the judge of that."

So you let him.

You kiss him, reaching up to wind your arms around his neck, to wedge his body as close to yours as you can. His lips are cool, but you feel like _he's_ the one melting **_you_**, reducing you to a puddle beneath him to soak into the sheets while he just kisses and kisses and kisses-

Experimentally, you move your arms a bit, letting one hand roam through his hair and tug lightly at the strands. The noise he makes is quiet, almost inaudible when muffled by your mouth. It's a good noise. You need to hear it again.

But apparently he has other plans, and you whine, actually _whine _when he pulls away, hands bracing himself at your sides as he gazes down at you. You weren't even aware of how much you needed to breathe until you hear it, staggered, your chest rising and falling shallowly. Air wasn't what you wanted right now.

It wasn't what he wanted, either.

He just looks at you for a moment, head cocked to the side, hair slightly mussed and eyes darkened. Tapping his own lips, he leans forward, hovering so they're mere inches from yours. You struggle to lift your head more. To resume contact. He laughs and moves back, leaving you to shoot him a half-hearted glare.

The expression of annoyance vanishes from your face when he glides a kiss along your collarbone, stopping at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Your lips are trembling- _all _of you is trembling- and you're fisting your hands in the fabric of his sweater so tightly that the feeling in your fingertips is already starting to wane.

"Jack-"

You can't see it but he's smiling against your throat, nuzzling into your skin. You're warm. _So warm_. In any other situation it would be uncomfortable but right now he _needs _it- needs to let the heat burn into him while he holds icy hands to your jaw. You repeat his name, louder than before, and he has to force himself to let go this time.

"Hmm," He hums inquiringly, absentmindedly tracing the calloused pads of two fingers along the exposed line of skin underneath your belly button. Color blooms in your cheeks. "Need me to cool you down?"

And he's surprised to see you nod fiercely- he's even more surprised when you grab a hold of his hands and guide them to the hem of your shirt- voice strong despite the way you're shaking.

You only say one word.

It takes only one word to pull him under, to erase any doubt about anything that had happened and will happen.

"_Please_."

* * *

sooooo yes that's all for now

hope you've enjoyed it so far! ;w; like i said the next chapter is going to get pretty steamy okay

feel free to review

reviews are good


	2. and the temperature changes

update ahoy! i apologize for the delay

school is really taking up a lot of time what with finals getting closer SIGHS teachers seem to love piling on the work more and more the closer it gets to christmas

great present right

anyway! my rambling aside hope you enjoy m'dears

(true to my word things _do _get pretty heated from here on out so you might want to have some ice cubes handy- ok this is why i don't do jokes i'm lame STORY TIME NOW)

**disclaimer**: i own nothing but the writing. all of the characters mentioned (besides you. you belong to jack frost yep) belong to their respective owners

* * *

"So, when is it that people stop believing?"

It's a week ago and Jack is sitting cross-legged in a chair. Observing North as he chips away at a block of ice with a pick that's no bigger than his pinkie. From this angle he can't see exactly what he's making. His focus isn't really on that anyway.

The large man remains silent long enough to make him wonder if he didn't hear. But when he opens his mouth to ask again the familiar accent greets his ears, oddly quieter than usual as if afraid any excess of volume will cause him to break his creation.

"It depends on things. Many things." Jack senses a lengthy response, so he doesn't interrupt. Even though the time the other's taking does nothing for his lack of patience. "The person in general. How they are. The environment in which they've grown. The people they have in their company. Their personality."

A small _ting _accompanies the last word. North presses his thumb and forefinger to his mustache, forehead scrunching as he regards what's in font of him. Jack's view is still blocked by his own position and the other's girth.

"A better question," he begins, startling Jack after nearly ten minutes of the only sound in the room being him working while he absorbed what the guardian had said, "is why."

Jack blinks, thoughts jumbled and tripping over each other to make him confused at first.

"Why what?"

"Why the person stops believing."

The way he says it makes it sound as though it was something he's spent time contemplating. The teen leans in and- and he can't really remember when he's been this attentive. Without interrupting with a quip or unnecessary question.

"But, no matter the answer, there are always the exceptions." Another cut to the ice. Jack can see the edges of something, but when he moves to get a better look North moves as well. "The few people who never stop believing."

And he turns to look at him, a smile playing about his lips as he brushes some of the frozen chips that had yet to melt from his beard.

"Belief is a powerful thing, Jack. You have seen the extent of what one person believing or not believing can do, and even that is just the tip of the ice block. Take my wife, for example. She believes in me at times when I do not have that much belief in myself."

North chuckles at his own joke, and Jack feels like he's intruding on something personal. (More like.. Something that hits close to home. Your happy face flicks through his mind and-) Uncomfortably, he shifts. North doesn't notice and claps his hands, his normal vigor and volume returning as he booms.

"Ah, finished! Come and look."

Rising to his feet (and not mentioning that he's been trying to do that for the last hour) he comes to stand at the taller man's side, again brought to a silence that's uncharacteristic for him.

A snowflake. The large block had been carved down into an intricate snowflake with a delicate pattern, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand. Picking it up, Jack examined it in almost reverent sort of way, turning it over in his fingers carefully under the other's gaze. North shakes his head when he tries to place it back on the table, patting it back into his hand.

"Keep it."

"I've got loads of these-" Jack starts to say. Because he does. He can _make _snowflakes. Meaning he has more than enough-

"This one is different. More fragile. Important. Meaning you need to take good care of it." North turns, looking at him from the door with a smile that seems to mean more than he's letting on. "And not be afraid to let it take care of you."

"... You're talking about [Name], aren't you."

"Am I?" He asks, amusement in his eyes, and he _knows_. He always knows. "I thought we were just having a normal conversation about snowflakes and believing. Silly me!"

With that, he walks away, and Jack is left to stare down at the object in his hands with slender brows furrowed.

* * *

You've only been without your shirt for a few seconds (courtesy of Jack, of course) and there are already goosebumps erupted over your skin. Probably also courtesy of Jack. Whether you want that to be your primary focus of the moment or not, it is, and out of habit you move to press closer to him. Which makes things worse, seeing as he's... well, _cold_. And the cause of this to begin with.

"Your feet are like icicles," you groan against his neck as the aforementioned bare toes press into your ankles. The winter spirit grins, hand barely brushing against your back as he moves his fingertips down your spine. Is it possible for goosebumps to have goosebumps? It felt like it.

"And you're really warm," he says simply, only shifting so he can tilt your chin upwards. "Especially your face."

Calling attention to the fact that you're blushing and embarrassed. You didn't expect any different. But still, his words make the pink hue darken a few shades. The laugh that leaves his lips is followed by his cool cheek pressing against your flushed one, head moving as he gently rubs them together.

"So warm..."

He almost sounds like it's some wonderful, curious thing; how warm you are. That you're letting him get this close. That you're letting him feel it. That you're sharing the heat with him.

That this seems unreal, but the feeling of warm skin somewhere along your rib cage and underneath his fingers is very, very real. That when you utter this delightful little noise that's a mixture between a gasp and something else that makes a manly sort of pride swell within him, he's really here, you're really here and quietly saying his name and it sounds _so much_ better than he ever thought a name- his name- could sound.

You don't quite know how your hands found their way to his hips, but he doesn't seem to mind or care about the details when you move across his stomach. Up his chest, nails dragging and scratching pleasurably rather than hurtfully. Then back downward to be halted by his hands outside of his sweater, holding yours still.

"Wait," he says, and you almost fire back with no because you _can't_. But he's pulling the blue fabric off and off and the more you see the more you forget about what you were going to say no to.

"Evening the playing field," is his explanation, and his grin is crooked. You don't say anything.

And once his sweater is completely gone (and not coming back any time soon if you can help it) you're back to exploring him while he watches. Memorizing the texture of his skin while he starts to be thankful that your eyes aren't on his. Applying more pressure to certain areas while he makes a noise deep in is chest that could only be described as a purr.

You raise a brow, and he mirrors the action. Although he exaggerates it more, making you snort.

"Enjoying yourself?"

_Very much, _he wants to say_. "Enjoying yourself" doesn't even begin to cover it._

But he asks "are you?" instead, and instead of answering you kiss him with a force that's surprising.

"I'll take that as a solid "yes Jack I'm enjoying this a lot"."

His cocky demeanor is seemingly absent when _you're _the one on top of him; sitting on his hips with your legs on either side, nothing but innocence in your expression as he peers up at you with curious baby blues. His gaze is on your face, sliding down to your chest, remaining there in what appears to be a thoughtful way, but is leaning more towards mischievous when you see the way his eyes trail along your skin.

"Wow. You _are_ cold."

And, somehow, he manages to move to where he can press his face into your bare chest. And _oh god did he just **nip **at your-_

It's all you can do to keep from wrapping your arms around yourself. To cover up. Even though that wouldn't do any good now. So you put on a brave face. He can tell he's got you, though; the smugness is apparent as his hands move to grab at your hips only to catch thin air.

You dive under the covers.

* * *

"J-jack?"

You're ten years old and standing in the snow shoeless and with your hands on your hips. The winter spirit nods, amused at the way your nose is scrunched up in the effort to stand the temperature. You're rocking between both feet, and he can almost hear your teeth chattering.

You're determined.

"I w-w-"

"You're going to get frostbite," he says, gesturing to your toes and making you frown when you look at his own bare feet. "You should go put some shoes on."

You start to ask why you should have to wear them when he doesn't, but your attention is diverted to his first statement. Eyes widening, you lean in, your voice a surprised whisper.

"_You're going to bite my toes?_"

He almost thinks you're serious. You _look _serious. But then you grin at him, and he knows that expression all too well because it's one he himself has made numerous times after a prank. Much cuter, but still, basically the same. You're not half bad at this.

"Good one. But you really should go put some shoes on."

Even your blue lips and shivering can't overshadow the pride you feel at his praise as you scurry back into your house to get your boots with a cry of "_stay right there_" over your shoulder.

* * *

You're safe under the covers, you think. You don't feel Jack moving around. He's showing no signs of coming after you. At the small victory, you find yourself giggling, only to fall silent as you realized...

... you didn't feel him at all.

Before you can ponder that any further, his arms twine around your midsection from behind. And you expect him to say something. To make some sort of joke. A remark about you being bad at hiding. A "gotcha", maybe.

Yet, he says nothing. Or, you guess he sort of says everything with his hands sliding down your hips, squeezing them lightly between his fingers. Are you breathing? You feel dizzy enough for oxygen deprivation to be plausible._ Very plausible_, you think when he lets his hands wander around to your front. _I'm dying from oxygen deprivation,_ you tell yourself when you feel slender digits slipping past the confines of pajama bottoms as if they aren't even there. His head is resting on your shoulder. Chilled breath is blowing in a steady rhythm along the shell of your ear.

_I'm dead, _you assure yourself.

He's touching you as if he's never touched you. Like he'll never get a chance to touch you again. Which is sort of true, all things considered.

Hugs are one thing.

Pats on the back are another.

Ruffling hair doesn't really compare to this.

Nothing compares to this, to feeling your head tilt back as he fans his fingers along your thighs. The fabric is sort of restrictive to movement, but he can make it work for now. For a little bit longer. You don't move. You don't really think you remember how to move at this point.

"_You're shaking_," you hear him say. The combination of his whisper and the almost husky quality to it does nothing to stop that; in fact, you're sure you're trembling more now. "_Still cold?_"

And he's chuckling because you're the farthest thing from cold right now. And he can feel that. Even with his own low temperature, with it surrounding you as he's enveloping you, you're still warm. Bordering on hot. The blankets overhead definitely have aided in trapping the air, keeping it heavy. He doesn't know when he's ever been this comfortable with heat, but he does know that if summer felt like this he wouldn't be so against that season.

Summer wouldn't make tiny little whimpers when he skimmed along skin, though. Wouldn't press back against him in need or stutter forward whenever his fingers got close to a certain place. Wiggle and squirm in his grip, breathlessly repeating his name over and over until it's nothing but sounds rather than a word. You're so much better than summer.

It's all too natural, really, and he can't tell if that's good or bad. There's nothing wrong with pressing his cool forehead against the back of your neck while you feel his chest rising and falling at your back. Nothing off about his lips placing a kiss on the same spot a few times after. The one complaint you have is that you can't see him- and you _want _to.

You want to see his face, see the blues of his irises and his tumbled white locks that are most likely even _more_ messy from the current situation.

"Want" wasn't a strong enough word. Need. You needed to. So when he goes to dip a few fingers down the hem of your underwear, you manage to pull away (not without reluctance), and you wriggle around until you're look at him. You know he's confused, but you only scoot in closer, making sure that you still have his face in view as you rest your hands on his cheeks.

"Jack." He leans into your touch. Rubs against one of your hands as he tilts his head a bit.

"Hmm?"

"Can I..." you begin, and he can't stop the worry that twists in his gut at your guarded expression because he's suddenly hyper aware of how quick this has all went and every little mistake or thought that could be in your mind at that moment from the second this started. You're going to tell him this feels wrong. You're going to say you're sorry. You're going to tell him to leave. And he's going to have to.

But you don't.

You reach up, pushing the covers off to where both of your heads are free.

"I wanted to... see your face.." you smile sheepishly, and he remains unresponsive as he stares. Then it clicks, and the weight on his shoulders tumbles away when he tickles his eyelashes against your cheek, planting a chilly kiss on the bridge of your nose. Relief resonates in his laugh. "What?"

"I thought you were going to say.. something else."

"Like what?"

And he doesn't say anything at first. Just looks anywhere but your face and lets his slender brows furrow slightly. That spot on the wall directly above your shoulder has become highly interesting, apparently.

"Never mind."

"You don't think I want this. To do this."

Did you get new wallpaper? Was that picture always hanging right there? He was sure it was a few inches to the left-

"Jackson Overland Frost."

... Did you just use his full name?

Blinking, he finds that he can't avoid your gaze any longer, settling on your [e/c] orbs. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him against you. You recall something someone has said before about how nice it is to have a warm body to hold. But you don't agree with that. A cold body is just as nice. Much better, actually. (Little do you know that Jack would agree with the statement wholeheartedly.)

"[Name] [Middle Name]-"

"Don't even go there, buddy." Your finger jabs into his chest, light but still hard enough to make him stop. "I have something to say right now and you're going to listen."

And even with your flushed face, blankets tangled around you, hair falling in your face, you hold an air of seriousness that he can't ignore.

"I do want to.. do this. With you." His attention is focused solely on you. "Because you're you. And I care about you- I _always _will. And, I always have. Even if it was kind of... different when I was younger than it has been recently. You've always been important to me, even when I was just a silly little kid to you. Even if you still see me as that."

Though you laugh after you speak, it's weak, and he finds himself holding you back just as tightly as you had been him beforehand. You start to sy something else but he shakes his head.

"Okay. My turn. You've never been just a silly little kid. Ever since we first met you've been more than that. So there's no way for me to see you as that. You were adorable. You _are _adorable," he corrects, giving a wry sort of grin. "Too adorable for your own good." And there are more things he wants to say, so much more left unsaid that he can't put into words just yet. So he settles on fixing you with his icy gaze. Lacing your fingers together. To emphasize his point, his mouth comes into contact with yours, short and sweet, and when he pulls back you stare at him.

And kiss him again.

And sit on top of him again.

"_Mmmm_," he hums, long and low in his throat when you break apart. While you reacquaint yourself with the planes of his stomach and chest, he lazily returns the favor, hands going to hold you steady and trace intricate designs along your sides, not unlike the ones you'd seen curl across your windowpane in ice at night.

"Mmm," you agree, smirking at him in a way that's reminiscent of his own. You're down and he's _holding_ you down, against him, murmuring into the corner of your jaw. You're not sure what he's saying. But each vaguely formed word runs its way along your spine and makes the bumps rise across your skin once more. And you think, _think_ he's said something about- About-

"_I love you_."

You whimper.

* * *

and i leave you with a cliffhanger my friends

i'm so evil i'm sorry omg


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